Endeavour Chronicles

author's note

Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama

Rated: PG … mild language, violence, and adult situations.

Summary: Two officers, believed
killed in action, are stranded on a prewarp planet and must work
together to survive while the rest of the NX-01 crew learn to carry
on without them. Begins a very AU season 2.

This story is unrelated to my Endeavour series.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own are my hopes and dreams ... although I did pawn both a while back for rent money.

A/N: An Ekosian day is 21
hours long. 119 days (104 Earth days) have passed since chapter
1.

35: t'pol

Snow crunched underfoot as they crept
toward their target, and T’Pol winced at the sound.

Thick, gray clouds filled the night sky, blotting out the moons and
the stars, and draping the entire valley in an oppressive darkness
that the subcommander loathed. Perspiration dotted her forehead,
though it came more from the stress of being almost completely blind
than from exertion. Reflexively, she tightened her grip on Charles’
hand as he carefully led her through the inky blackness. That he was
able to see anything at all seemed beyond comprehension, though she
had long since grown accustomed to his superior vision at night.

The distant crack of wood snapping caused her to freeze in place
and yank Charles to a stop as well. She sensed rather than saw his
glance at her, and held up her hand to forestall any question. He
tensed, seeming to recognize that she had detected something with her
greater sense of hearing or of smell, and was silent as he waited for
further instructions. When the sound did not repeat – she guessed it
was limbs breaking under the weight of too much snow or ice – she
nodded.

“Proceed,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear her
voice.

They continued their slow approach, inching toward the overturned
shipping cars of the derailed train. Even to T’Pol’s poor night
vision, the containers loomed large, dark voids of utter blackness in
the already impenetrable night, and she silently wondered at the
wisdom in their mutual decision to investigate now. Moving once the
sun went down was obviously the best tactical option, but she could
not help but to think she was slowing Charles down. It was ironic, she
mused, that he remained self-conscious about his own contribution to
their survival yet seemed utterly unable to fathom just how much she
relied upon him at night.

Fifteen tense days had passed since they blundered into the combat
zone, and the continued hostilities raging around them had forced them
to abandon plans for a quick escape even if they had managed to
acquire additional fuel. In the first two days, they had been forced
to relocate their rudimentary camp site three times to avoid detection
by the arriving guerilla reinforcements intent on capturing the
derailed train. Near dusk on the second day, however, Charles
discovered an ideal hiding spot for them to lay low until the
situation resolved itself. Situated in a sandstone caprock escarpment
and sheltered from view by thick, snow covered bushes, the hidden
cavern he happened to stumble upon while relieving his bladder
extended just over six meters into the rock and provided an adequate
view of the conflict zone. Wide enough for the ATV to be backed into
it, the cave appeared to have been carved out of the largely
sedimentary rock by wind, rain, and snow over centuries, yet remained
surprisingly devoid of native animals.

With little to do apart from remaining undetected, they spent the
time formulating plans and training. Although his dedication was
admirable, Charles continued to struggle with the lessons he was being
presented, whether it was the basic maneuvers of Suus mahna or
the advanced mental techniques many Vulcans took for granted. Rather
than coddle him, though, T’Pol continued to push him hard, knowing how
much he detested someone patronizing him or his abilities. The
intensity of these sessions left him frustrated, sore and occasionally
hostile toward her; she suspected he recognized on some level why she
did not let up, however, as their evenings invariably ended with
neuropressure (which was quite difficult to do with the limited space
and the inability to disrobe) and soft, friendly conversation. When
they retired for the evening, it was always together, and Charles
neither commented nor complained that she shared his blankets and body
warmth against the bitter cold that continued to seep into her very
bones.

To her great surprise, T’Pol found herself more content during
those nightly dialogues than she recalled being since her father died.
She had long known that Charles Tucker was an enjoyable
conversationalist, but without the distraction of potential
engineering problems or unexpected interruptions by Captain Archer,
Tucker revealed a side of himself that she found absolutely
fascinating. They did not limit themselves to topics both were already
familiar with – his grasp of warp mechanics would always be superior
to hers, just as her understanding of stellar dynamics far exceeded
his – and instead turned to subjects that would not normally come up
in their daily interactions. Charles surprised her with his knowledge
of Surak’s tenets, for example – he admitted to having read the book
she gave to the captain as well as having taken a Vulcan philosophy
course during his years at the University of Florida – and even
brought up a number of valid points regarding the interpretation of
those teachings, though she remain satisfied that she had adequately
defended her stance. More often than not, they argued, though it was
rarely heated and began to take a more affectionate, almost teasing
tone as the days passed. That these discussions almost always occurred
during neuropressure or while they were wrapped up in blankets
together only served to increase the sense of intimacy T’Pol had been
fighting to avoid.

With the apparent cessation of hostilities in the valley below and
the near exhaustion of their food stores, T’Pol had suggested they
investigate the wreckage of the train in order to hopefully replenish
their supplies. Tucker insisted on them venturing out at night,
despite her night blindness, and T’Pol finally agreed that it was the
most logical course of action.

Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.

“I think this is a truck,” Charles whispered as he drew abreast to
one of the overturned cargo containers. T’Pol frowned when he let go
of her hand and she instinctively took a step closer to him. “Yeah,”
he repeated a moment later, “definitely a truck. Looks a little like
an ambulance from World War Two.” He glanced in her direction. “If I
can get this thing runnin’,” he said softly, “I really think we should
ditch the ATV.” At her look, he shrugged. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I
know it’ll draw more attention than the trike, but at least with this
thing we can carry some actual supplies.”

“Can you?” T’Pol asked, shuffling closer to him in an attempt to
make out the vehicle he was referring to. Like the trike, the
ambulance shared the three-wheeled frame, though it bore only a single
wheel in the front and a pair of extraordinarily thick ones in the
aft. The truck bed was enclosed, no doubt to provide cover for the
wounded it was meant to transport, but she doubted there was
sufficient space for more than a single patient and the attending
medic. Still, she had to admit that the extra cargo space and the
possibility of a sleeping cot would be greatly appreciated. An unusual
symbol was emblazoned upon the side of the vehicle: three concentric,
orange circles of equal size oriented in such a way that they would be
centered upon the angles of an unseen equilateral triangle. Currently,
the truck was tipped over on its side and, based on what little T’Pol
could see, appeared to have been knocked free from the freight
container when the train derailed. “Repair it, that is?” she added,
purposely speaking in her native tongue to test his comprehension.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Charles replied. She froze in place at
the feel of his hand upon her waist, but the protest she was about to
voice at his audacity died when he pulled her scanner free. Charles
did not seem to notice. “We’ll need to roll it over, though,” he
murmured as he began circling the vehicle. T’Pol followed without
hesitation, her eyes as wide as possible.

“That could be difficult,” she remarked, wincing when she stumbled
over something unseen. “There are only two of us and it appears to be
quite heavy.” Charles stopped so abruptly to face her that she nearly
collided into him.

“I thought you Vulcans were supposed to be really strong,” he said,
and T’Pol could hear the tension in his voice.

“We’re not that strong,” she retorted wryly. His answering
chuckle was soft, but sounded forced and did nothing to soothe the
knot of worry twisting within her stomach.

A moment later, one of the moons peeked through the cloud cover,
bathing the entire valley in a pearly luminescence that gave the
fractured landscape an eerie, almost unreal sense to it. T’Pol’s
breath caught at the horrific sights before her and she suddenly
understood Charles’ discomfort. Bodies, broken and mangled, littered
the entire field of battle. Most were covered in a soft blanket of
snow and ice, which explained the general lack of smell; she could
only imagine what this valley would smell like once the region warmed
and the cold could no longer slow decomposition. T’Pol counted twelve
off-road vehicles in various states of disrepair scattered throughout
the combat zone; only four of them appeared to be of the same style as
the one she and Tucker had acquired months earlier. Even more ominous
was the presence of a large tracked vehicle at the very edge of the
forest; once, it had likely been an armored personnel carrier, but
with the damage it had received, it was little more than scrap metal.

“I think I can get it runnin’ again,” Charles declared as he
stepped closer to her. T’Pol could not help but to notice that he kept
his eyes firmly locked on her or the ambulance, as if he were
attempting to ignore the charnel field they were standing in. “But I’m
gonna need some more light,” he continued. “Can we risk it?”

“We have no other choice,” T’Pol said in response. She reached for
the scanner and he relinquished it without comment. For a moment, she
frowned at the fluctuating life signs detected by the device – they
were weak and thready, almost as if the scanner could not quite
determine what to make of them – but the lack of significant
biological signatures within one hundred meters eased her concern.
Programming the scanner to alert her should new life signs enter the
detection zone, she attached it to her belt and turned her attention
back to Charles.

“You know,” he said as he tested the stability of the ambulance,
“this reminds me of my junior year in high school.” Pushing hard
against the vehicle, he nodded for her to do the same. “Me and a bunch
of guys went to Interlachen and ended up with two trucks, a bus and a
car in Chipco Lake.” T’Pol raised an eyebrow as they let the ambulance
rock back before applying more force.

“How did they get into the lake?” she asked, knowing she really
shouldn’t ask. Tucker flashed her a grin that lit up his face.

“Now that is a really good story,” he replied. “It was all
my buddy Tom’s fault, since he brought his pet gator into the dorms…”

Several minutes – and one incredibly unlikely tale of juvenile
misbehavior – later, the truck was back in its normal upright
position. T’Pol checked her scanner once more.

“I am detecting no coolant leaks,” she said once the sweep was
complete, “and the fuel tank is full.” Charles nodded.

“Ignition system looks fine,” he offered. “Can I start her up?”
T’Pol gave her scanner another look, frowning at the continuing
instability of the readings. She spent a moment trying to isolate the
abnormalities without success.

“No life signs detected,” she finally declared. Charles nodded
before scrambling into the driver’s seat. A moment later, the truck’s
engine rumbled to life.

“You keep an eye on the engine,” Tucker said as he slid out of the
vehicle, “and I’ll start lookin’ for supplies.” That had been the
condition Charles insisted upon for ‘allowing’ her to accompany him
tonight rather than venture forth alone – he had threatened to sneak
out when she was asleep if she did not agree to it – and his concern
about her safety was both frustrating and oddly touching.

“Do not venture too far,” she instructed coolly before offering him
her scanner. “I would prefer it if you did not get lost.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Charles said with a smirk. Even with the limited
light available, T’Pol could see his amusement fade quickly as he
glanced at the corpses strewn about. He visibly pushed aside his
emotions – she felt a flash of pride at how well he had taken to the
lessons she’d offered but quickly suppressed it – and focused on the
task at hand.

Suddenly, the scanner chirped softly and Charles froze in place. A
second beep followed the first as he hurriedly offered the device to
T’Pol – she accepted it with a touch more haste than was entirely
appropriate for a Vulcan – before drawing his phase pistol.

“Faint life signs,” T’Pol declared, pointing as she spoke.
“Approximately three meters in that direction.”

“How did you miss it?” Charles demanded. He crouched alongside the
ambulance, his weapon at the ready, and peered into the darkness to
find the source of the signal. T’Pol joined him.

“I do not know,” she replied. Even now, the scanner was displaying
wildly fluctuating readings. Worry suddenly washed over her: what if
the device was damaged? She would need to carefully examine it in the
light of day at the earliest opportunity.

“It’s a person,” Tucker announced. “There’s somebody alive out
there.” As if in response to his comment, a pained moan echoed across
the valley, muted by the noise of the idling engine. Before she could
reply, he darted forward, keeping low as he moved. The urge to curse
died in her throat – she should have known that Charles’ natural
empathy would cause him to act without thinking – and T’Pol reached
into the cab of the truck to turn the engine off. A heartbeat later,
she began creeping forward, eyes straining to make out shapes in the
dimness.

She found Charles mere seconds later, kneeling alongside a girl
barely out of puberty but wearing a distinctive uniform. The child’s
wounds were horrific – shrapnel had perforated her torso and abdomen,
spilling her intestines out and into the snow. Fractured ribs were
exposed to the freezing weather. Blood was everywhere. T’Pol could not
fathom how this girl had survived as long as she had, not with the
wounds she had sustained in a firefight two days old.

“We cannot help her,” T’Pol murmured in English. “Even Doctor Phlox
could not save her.” Charles grimaced, but remained where he knelt,
holding onto the girl’s hand and stroking her hair. T’Pol hesitated,
momentarily unsure what they should do. Abandoning the badly injured
girl was the logical course of action, but she knew that her companion
would see it as unnecessarily cruel.

For that matter, T’Pol did not think she could abandon
someone to perish in this way.

“Nobody should die like this,” Charles said, his voice thick with
emotion.

“Hurts,” the girl whimpered. “Hurts … bad…” Her face
was twisted in agony, a hideous mask of torment that forced T’Pol to
look away. Sense memories long thought to have been locked away
suddenly assailed the subcommander – the stench of seared flesh and
smoke, the screams of the dead and dying, the heat of flame licking
her skin – and T’Pol closed her eyes. She was stronger than this! Her
muscles trembled as she struggled for control.

The whine of a phase pistol discharge snapped her head around, and
she stared at Charles with wide eyes. With an expression so resolute
that a kolinahr master would have been pleased, he stood, the
weapon clenched tightly in his left hand. As he awkwardly holstered
the sidearm, T’Pol could see that the selector switch on the pistol
was set to ‘kill.’ He turned away without a comment but barely managed
a dozen steps before dropping to his knees in the snow and vomiting
loudly. Unsure how to offer aid, T’Pol joined him, wincing at the
acrid stench of the regurgitated matter as she knelt alongside her
companion.

“You did her a service,” she said cautiously. “Her injuries were
too severe … the pain would have been excruciating.”

“I know,” Charles replied. “God, I know.” He ground the palms of
his hands against his eyes, as if he were trying to force the memory
away. Hesitantly, T’Pol reached out and placed her own hand upon his
shoulder. Tucker leaned toward her, his entire body shaking, before
abruptly straightening. He rose quickly. “We need to get those
supplies and get the hell outta here,” he said. T’Pol nodded as she
stood.

“Agreed,” she said. She did not bother asking him if he required
assistance, and instead simply followed him through the darkness as he
retraced his steps to the derailed train.

They worked in relative silence for nearly two hours, recovering
more than enough equipment and fuel to keep them on the road for some
time. When they found the bulk of the supplies they needed already
gathered in a central location, T’Pol theorized that the guerillas who
had attacked the train in the first place attempted to do exactly what
she and Charles were doing, but had been caught unprepared for the
military’s response. Tucker merely grunted in response.

A third hour passed before they had retrieved all of their
belongings from the cave and secured them within the ambulance. Trip
stared at the entrance of the cavern, an expression on his face that
T’Pol could not begin to comprehend. He gave her a sidelong look, his
eyes suddenly old.

“I’m afraid this planet is gonna kill us, T’Pol,” he said softly.
She blinked before stepping closer to him, consciously invading his
personal space so she could rest her hand upon his shoulder.

“Only if we let it,” she replied. “Together we are greater than the
sum of both of us.” He offered a wan smile that did not touch his
eyes, and T’Pol hoped he could not see through her bluster.

Because deep within her katra, suppressed under layers of
iron control, she was terrified that he was correct.